


Won't Get Better Than This

by iloveyoudie



Series: Sure would be a bummer if he got shot and died... [4]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Conversations, Developing Relationship, Drinking & Talking, Feelings, Kissing, M/M, Modern Era, Summer Nights, Validation of Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24389023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie
Summary: He wasn’t sure what had set tonight apart. Maybe it was the perfect weather, a bright sunny day and a cool breezy night. He wanted to be outside, not cooped up in some dingy pub, but he also didn’t want to be alone.
Relationships: Ronnie Box/George Fancy
Series: Sure would be a bummer if he got shot and died... [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695859
Comments: 12
Kudos: 17





	Won't Get Better Than This

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Turn by The Wombats
> 
> _I like the way your brain works, I like the way you try  
>  To run with the wolf pack when your legs are tired  
> I like the way you turn me inside and out  
> I like the way you turn  
> I like the way your brain works  
> _  
> 

George was never the first person to leave the pub. Usually he’d wait until Jim or Morse went so he could to hitch a ride home, but more recently he’d been hanging about a bit later, waiting for them to leave first, so he could instead wait for Box. After they’d gone he’d pop the other man a text and wait outside, or Ronnie would peel away from his friends on his own and find George in the usual corner booth. He wasn’t sure what had set tonight apart. Maybe it was the perfect weather, a bright sunny day and a cool breezy night. He wanted to be outside, not cooped up in some dingy pub, but he also didn’t want to be alone. It only took a couple of drinks before he was antsy to leave, and the fact that Ronnie was at the end of the bar chatting with other people, almost the whole distance of the room between them (and he was with Jim and Morse who were still on and on about WORK), well, it really rubbed him the wrong way.

George didn’t think about it too long. He just stood up, announced that he was leaving, and walked straight across to Ronnie. It likely wasn’t as dramatic as it seemed in his mind. He just strolled over and told him that he was going to head home and asked if he wanted to come with him. The agreement came with an easy and cool smile, and as they wound their way through the bustling post-work crowd, Box rested his hand on the small of George’s back so as to not lose hold of him. It felt like _something_ even if it was a bit of nothing. George knew that Jim and Morse had seen and so had Box’s set, and it wasn’t like it was a secret, but it was a first for him to be so overt.

George inhaled a deep breath of cool evening air and felt liberated of something as he stood outside on the pavement.

“Yours or mine?” Ronnie asked as he lit himself a cigarette.

“Don’t much care,” George watched the lighter flick between his fingers, click and flare, and be shut and fondled in Box’s hand before it was put away. He knew realistically that smoking shouldn’t be hot, but the way Ronnie did it broke all logic. In fact, when it came to Ronnie Box, George found that what little sense he had flew straight out the window, “I was hoping to walk some since it’s nice out. You mind?”

“Not so long as we can get something to eat. M’starving,” Box exhaled and pointed down the road towards his favorite place, “Chippie?”

George nodded and chanced to curl his hand around Ronnie’s forearm. He didn’t pull away, instead he gave him a curl of a smile and tucked his hand in his pocket to pull George in even closer to his side as they began to walk.

The streets still radiated the heat of the day but the evening air had a cool bitey breeze that contrasted nicely from the warm of the stones and the couple of drinks he’d had. To George this was the best sort of night, especially when you had a cottony buzz and were with your sweetheart. It was a romantic sort of word for someone like Ron, _sweetheart_ , but it fit nicely with the mood; strolling together, getting a bite to eat, talking, laughing, and picking up a six pack for the road. George told Ronnie, as they pulled the first cans off the rings, how he and the lads used to drink behind the dumpsters at the Tesco down the road from his house when he was a kid. They’d steal beer from their houses, toss them in a bag, and pick them randomly like they were drawing lots. George’s dad only bought the cheap shite but Tommy Campbell’s mum only ever drank Guinness. It was like the wild card, decent quality but likely to knock them on their tiny little asses. Beers in hand, they’d all count to three and chug them as fast as they could before they’d stumble back out like the little tossers they were and went to meet the girls from school who were chain smoking round at the park.

“Come on then!” Box flashed that devilish grin of his, palmed his own beer, and dragged George to the nearest shop’s back alley. They counted down with a poorly timed, _‘A three - two - one - GO’_ , and the two grown men cracked their cans and sipped the rush of foam hurriedly, before they chugged and chugged and both failed in downing it all in one go. There was a bit of mockery, some finger pointing, but they didn’t leave that alley until they’d each sucked down one whole beer each and crushed the cans in their fists.

“You’re daft,” George grinned as he licked the moisture from his lips. The alcoholic rush had him feeling like he was being pushed gently about by a warm current that he couldn’t see, lovely little alcoholic waves that made him wobble momentarily on his feet.

“It was your idea,” Ronnie chuckled.

George’s fingers curled into Ronnie’s shirt at his waist and they came together in a beer-soaked kiss, buzzing heads and clumsy lips and all. Their empty cans were dropped where they stood as Ronnie pushed George back against the bricks, all the tall lean lines of him, all hips forward and big strong hands sliding over his jaw and cupping his neck. George was happy to take hold of him right back, to catch his fingers in his belt loops and surrender himself to to being snogged senseless. He couldn’t quite work out all the very particular emotions of the moment, but he was grinning ear to ear and his insides fluttered giddily when they broke apart. If anyone had asked how he was doing, he would have definitely just blurted out how arse over tit he was for Ronnie fucking Box.

_Daft._

When they finally wound their way out of the alley, George walked them to his favourite spot by the river. Their dinner was devoured along the way and the six pack reduced to two and just as they arrived the sky had turned to smudges of orange and red which turned into blush pink under purplish clouds that cast everything in a strange dusky glow. The spot itself wasn’t much of anything special, a low wall against a grassy bank, a quiet stretch of river with a walking path shaded by trees. There were a thousand places in Oxford just like this one but George had found it during his first year here when things got him down a lot more often and he needed to sit and clear his head. Now he just had a bit of affection for it.

They sat side by side on top of the wall, George leaning a bit forward on his palms to look towards the water, and Box with his hands folded together between his knees as he looked straight ahead at the sky.

“I love summer,” George said, “Like, I really vibe with it. Summer nights are better than normal ones. Energized or something. Back home, before I moved away, me and the lads always got wild on summer nights.”

He thought about the section house a moment too, about how much less he thought about any of his old roommates as each week in his new place passed by. They still had the group chat, but he’d muted it when new blokes started to come and go, new names and faces, and it was different trying to stay involved when he didn't live there anymore. They’d had ragers back in the day. You’d think they’d know better being coppers but the section house was really just a glorified frat house when all was said and done.

“People go a bit mad,” Box added, “Addled brains when the heat waves really hit. And it gets worse every year with global warming an all.”

“I don't know. I heard global warming's not real,” George said with a side eyed glance, “And the world’s flat.”

He got elbowed for it and then laughed.

Ronnie took the last two cans of beer, handed George one, and they both cracked them in tandem. The world was very wobbly now, George’s body was both hyper aware and deeply disconnected. Everything had started to feel a little like a dream.

It was kind of a relief.

The ‘real world’ slipped in and out in waves, but he knew that Ronnie was beside him and it was just the two of them and there was fresh air and placid water and the smell of grass and rough hewn stone under his fingertips. He felt lucky to have Ron with him, so close their knees brushed with every idle kick of George’s feet, and as if Box had thought the same thing at the same moment, his hand came to cover George’s where it curled over the edge of the wall. It all sort of piled up, warm layers of emotion, thick and syrupy and sweet, until he knew he’d be drowned in it to not speak up.

“Why me?” George said aloud just at the same exact second he thought it. He looked at the silhouette of Ronnie’s face in the dark, outlined with the last vestiges of daylight burning through the sky, “You could have anyone you want.”

Box let out a bit of a snort, “That’s generous.”

“S’true,” George snorted himself.

“Why not you?” He countered.

George rolled his eyes a bit and smiled, “You can’t turn it around like that. Come on…”

“I’m serious, George,” His hand moved from George’s hand to curl around his knee and tug him a centimetre closer, “Why wouldn’t anyone want you?”

George couldn’t help leaning into it. Anytime Ronnie reached for him he was pulled into him like a magnet, “Well, I’m not particularly good at much.”

“Really? You fishing for compliments now?” Ronnie smirked at him.

“Nah,” George bumped him with his knee. He felt foolish for saying anything. The overwhelmed moment of suffocating feeling had passed and he knew it had to be the drink that was getting him like this, wondering and worrying and intense waves of feeling moving over him like a tide. It was weird how such a nice night could turn so maudlin just as the sun dropped down below the horizon. He’d just felt it deeply, how much he really liked Box and how little he felt he had to offer in his share of this relationship of theirs, “It’s just too much beer talking.”

“Nah, yerself,” Box leaned backwards and braced on one of his arms which extended slightly behind George, “Come on now, let’s talk it out if it’ll make you feel better.”

George gave him a look through his lashes.

Box just continued, “You’re a good bloke. You’re fun. Got a good job you’re good at-”

“Competent, maybe,” George leaned back a bit into the opening of Ronnie’s arm. It was warm and comfortable even he ended up slumping into his side for the most part. As soon as he did so, Ronnie balanced on his other arm, and curled that one more fully around him.

“Good enough to last this long,” Box huffed, “Not sure what you were expecting from the police but it’s not like it is on telly. I mean, you know that, but I just mean no one is gonna be a super cop. Everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes things go a bit crooked. We do the best we can. And I know you do that.”

Box paused to pull his beer from between his knees, take a swig, and set it off to the side, “Morse is a shit example. Strange is craftier than he looks- I mean, shit, whaddyou think it’s like for everyone else with Fred Thursday tromping about?” Ronnie adjusted his his weight, “I learned a long time ago that it doesn’t do you to try and be a hero. No one ever is going to recognise even half of what any of us are worth. No point in bringing piles of work home or letting it follow you off the clock. Most people don’t, George. You’ve got a good eye on you, a quick enough head, you can put two and two together as well as the rest of us can.”

“Thanks,” George lifted his brows. The reassurance was working slightly, “What about everything else? And I’m a mess. I’m lazy. Dense as a brick. Can’t much cook. Hate to clean and-.”

“Now you _are_ fishing for compliments,” Box interrupted with a short laugh. He curled himself further around George and leaned in to nip a bit at his jaw before he put a kiss there, “You can laundry list your bad habits as much as you want, Georgie-boy, but you’re leaving out the good bits. What about you being well fit?”

“Okay, I mean, yeah. I’m hot as hell,” George smiled and turned his face towards the other, “But not like you.”

Box smirked, “Well, there can only be one me.”

George watched Box’s face, his angled grin, his white teeth. When he relaxed and shed his layers a bit, he was practically adorable. How did he manage that?

“Listen, this is gonna come out all buggered up, I know it,” Box said with an slightly laboured sigh after a quiet pause, “But part of why I like you is because you’re just a normal bloke like me. You aren’t too complicated. You aren’t the purity police. You're not some academic twat know-it-all. You're just a decent guy trying to get through the day and make something comfortable for yourself along the way. We aren't that different, really. And you like me, alright? I like you because you like me.”

George smiled, “Vain fucker!”

“Oi, see now!” Box spoke up in earnest dispute, “I said it’d come out wrong!” He grabbed at George’s sides playfully and they tussled lightly before they both fell onto their backs in the grass and abandoned their drinks completely.

“What I mean,” Box resumed once they had scooted close and George was once more tucked into his side, “Is that you couldn’t give a toss what people say about me and, well, you’ve never even asked me about most of it.” Ronnie’s face turned to look at George, “I know what they all say. I know the stories, and I’m no saint for sure, but I’m no special fucking snowflake who needs to be tiptoed around either. You could ask, you got every right, but you don’t pressure me to tell all and I appreciate that.”

“Eh. S'stupid _…_ Most of that stuff happened before I even worked here,” George said, “What’s it matter to me? I only care about how you are now.”

“I can be a right idiot, but what would be _really_ stupid is me letting someone good as you slip through my fingers.”

“Don't say you're stupid,” George chuckled through a slight warmth and blush, “I’m stupid.”

“Here's a secret. I'm a _bit_ stupid,” Box leaned in with a whisper.

“Me and you both then. A right pair of morons.”

“Halfwits.”

“Twats,” George laughed, “Sharing one single brain cell.”

“A half'a one,” Box gave him a grin.

George turned on his side and propped himself on his elbow to hover over Ronnie to watch his face. He was a little drunk, they both were, and Box was looking gentle, the way he did when no one else was around. When they cuddled close in bed at night or the older man fell asleep on his chest, half hanging off of the sofa only because he wanted to tangle up with George. It was the sort of expression he’d learned quickly was almost exclusively for him. He leaned in and kissed Ronnie again, quiet and soft, with a bite of beer and tobacco, but it also mingled with the scene around them, the warm summer breeze and fresh grass and the quiet calm of the river. He really did feel like a teen again, the way his heartbeat zoomed and his skin got fiery and his every thought was so quickly consumed by this man. He felt like any low point, any doubt, any melancholy or sourness could be eased with one of those soft looks and a few of Ronnie’s reassuring words.

Drinking in the grass. Talking by the river. Laying side by side as evening set in. It was exactly what he’d needed tonight. Maybe someday they could do it for real, drive off to a cabin somewhere with a lake and a bonfire and have chilly nights under ugly woven blankets and warm days of water and sun. Proper like.

Somewhere the little doubtful voices piped up again to tell him he was getting ahead of himself.

“So I have to ask then,” George said when they broke apart. He was still leaning over Ronnie, still cupping his cheek in one hand and brushing his thumb lightly over the corner of his mouth, “Since you said I can.”

“What do you want to know?”

George’s hand slipped back and he pushed himself up. His legs crossed over themselves and stretched out, “Did you really try and fight Shirley?”

George had only worked with Sergeant Trewlove for a year before she had transferred away. She’d been amazing and he’d admittedly been very smitten for the entire time she worked with them in CID. At the time, the moon and sun had risen and set with her and he suspected seeing her again could fling him right back into it, but he realised in retrospect how out of his league she always had been and if she had been then, with a few years in London, she surely still was.

Box smirked, as if that were very close to what he’d suspected may come up “Yeah. I hate that bitch - I won’t apologize for it.”

George had come into the office just as Shirley had popped Box in the face with a straight jab. He’d missed the beginning of the confrontation, people said Box started it, but Trewlove had been the one to finish it. They’d both gotten reprimands in the end but it had been pretty fucking iconic. Box had a black eye and a sour attitude for days following and he’d learned his lesson and never gone after her again after that.

“Well, you deserved it,” George snickered.

Box shrugged and sat himself up now. He reached for his can, chugged its remains down, and crushed it.

“You’re right though,” George reached for the remains of his own drink, “I do like you anyway.”

“No accounting for taste,” Ronnie grunted, much of his softness had edged away but he still seemed amused.

“Honestly, it’s a little hot-” George murmured, “Like, you know how everyone secretly wants to fuck Gaston from Beauty and the Beast? Even though the movie tells you to be a furry?”

“No one in town half as manly,” Box said with a nod of agreement.

George almost choked on on the last few warm dregs of beer he had been pouring down his throat. After he coughed his airway free, he pushed at Ronnie’s shoulder, “ _Shut up._ ”

“I wasn’t raised in a cupboard, George. I’ve seen films.”

“Disney though-”

“When do you think I was born? I’ve even seen the new ones,” He shoulder bumped him again, “My niece is right in that sweet spot age bracket too. Seen Frozen and Moana about a dozen times each.”

George grinned. Every nugget of personal information felt like a treasure to be hoarded, “Favourite Uncle Ronnie?”

“ _Only_ Uncle Ronnie. And the best kind of uncle, the kind you rarely ever see and who always slips you money.”

“Aw, that's not the best kind. The best kind you see _often_ and still gives you money,” George chuckled, “I’ve got a sister.”

“Yeah, you mentioned her forcing you to put your furniture together.”

“Ruthie, yeah,” The sky was darkening quickly now and the breeze was even cooler than before. Goose pimples prickled over George’s forearms and he shivered a moment, a quick thing he barely noticed, but Ronnie put an arm around him again.

“And you have a brother, right?”

“I do.”

“Older or younger?”

“Oh, I’m older," Box huffed importantly.

“Me too,” George got a little thrill in the tiny similarities. Ron was right that they were alike in more ways than was initially obvious. Each new discovery made him worry less about the ways in which they were different. George Fancy wasn’t often one to doubt himself, but in the moments he did, he was finding that Ronnie Box was very good at allaying his fears.

He felt Box shift again and then warm fingers were turning his face and he was met with another kiss, this one slow and long. Box’s hand curled around his neck and sifted into his hair and when their lips gave way to one another they sunk into it even deeper and George forgot where they were and what they were doing. The only thing that mattered was in that kiss and he chased it when Ronnie eventually pulled away. Both of their mouths were reddened now, even in the dusky light, and he could feel the lingering rough of stubble and smell the last vestiges of Ronnie's cologne tantalising his nostrils.

George made a soft pleasant sound and rested his cheek against the other man's.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Ronnie murmured, “Don’t know what about or why, but you need to stop worrying. Stop comparing yourself to other people. Including me. I’ll take ten of you before I’d even glance at whatever collection of pricks you’re putting on a pedestal.”

George got warm again and deflected with the usual humour as he straightened, “Could you imagine how annoying ten of me would be?”

“I don’t know,” Box’s brows rose, “Ten tight little arses. You think I could con them all into an orgy?”

“Yes,” George laughed louder than he intended and then made a horrible face, “God, this is just like that ‘would you fuck your clone?’ meme.”

“The what?”

“I’ll show you when we get in,” George smiled and shook his head.

“Speaking of,” The wind whipped again and they both seemed to move closer in reaction, “How do you feel about heading home?”

George realised they hadn’t decided whose flat to go to, but it didn’t seem to matter now. When Ron called it ‘home’ he knew he meant it, because that would be wherever they ended up together.

“I feel like I want to get into a real bed, yeah. So that sounds brilliant,” George crushed his own can and had enough presence of mind to pick up the empties to put in the next bin they passed. He hopped up in a quick motion and his head rushed. He bobbled but braced a hand on Ronnie’s shoulder and when he was steady he helped the other man up with grasped forearms.

Both of them stood a moment to brush grass from their trousers and as George scoped the hill to make sure he didn’t leave anything behind, he turned back to find Ronnie watching him with that gentle smile again and an outstretched hand looking for his own.

George grabbed it and pulled himself forward to throw his arms around Ronnie’s waist in a hug. Warm arms closed around him quickly and held, and George felt all his emotional whinging finally slip out with his next deep breath.

“Thanks..”

“For what?”

He shrugged. It felt stupid to say what he really meant, _thanks for listening, for the compliments, for just being here_. For taking him seriously. Not treating him like some idiot. Some kid. For liking him back. Ronnie was onto something, George realised. It was nice to be liked for who you were without too many strings attached.

Ronnie squeezed him, didn’t press anymore, and gave him a kiss to the side of the head. He murmured in response “Thank _you._ ”

George didn’t ask why. He didn’t need to. He didn’t need to hear the answer. He could feel it.

They peeled away finally, tangled hands, and headed back the way they came. No more confessions or reminiscences, but still that permeating warmth and that summer energy and that flutter of feeling that was impossible to deny.

“C’mon then,” George smiled, “Home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Some 'beginning of the relationship' stuff. Just conversations. Idk, I felt they needed to be had.  
> I may also be setting up some stuff for later things that are being worked on in their timeline. 
> 
> if you don't follow on tumblr, be sure to check it out for moodboards and playlists and all kinds of stuff.. http://bryndeavour.tumblr.com


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